


Främling överallt

by PazithiGallifreya



Series: Carry That Weight [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Severitus, Severus Snape Lives, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 03:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8039917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PazithiGallifreya/pseuds/PazithiGallifreya
Summary: Severus Snape is having a lousy week - that much isn't so unusual - but the Headmistress is none too pleased with his current choice of coping method.





	Främling överallt

“ _What the hell crawled up his arse today?”_

_-_

“ _Did you hear what he said to Maryanne? He ought to be sacked if you ask me...”_

_-_

“ _Merlin, I knew he could be awful, but I thought the headmistress had done something to make him stop, he seemed almost human last year...”_

 

* * *

 

She'd wondered, that day when he'd finally agreed to return to Hogwarts to teach, how long it would take for him lose his temper in the classroom. Well, Minerva now had her answer: approximately one year and a couple of months, apparently. Students exaggerated plenty, of course, and a few overheard complaints in the corridors weren't necessarily accurate nor indicative of anything concerning, but the frequency of such comments had suddenly exploded in the last few days. As she'd once overheard a muggle say, “where there's smoke, there's fire.”

She ought to be annoyed at least, if not genuinely angry with him. She'd told him quite plainly that she'd expected him to keep a civil tongue in his head in the classroom. She found she was more simply disappointed. And oddly worried. It wasn't as though she'd never lost her temper with a student before herself, or done something questionable with one of her young charges (she cringed at a few choice memories), but she was quite certain that she had never loudly accused one of having his head lodged up his arse in the middle of class. Oh, she'd certainly had the _thought_ before. And Merlin knew, the boy had probably done something quite inadvisable to earn it. She'd hoped, though, that moving him to only N.E.W.T. level classes would reduce some of his frustration and spare the youngest students his sharp tongue. And for a while, it had.

Still, when she'd taken the post of Headmistress, she'd made the conscious decision to _not_ continue certain aspects of her predecessor's style of leadership. Mainly, she saw no real benefit in simply ignoring some of the behavior that Albus Dumbledore had preferred to turn a blind eye to, from both students and from the staff. Petty name-calling, for one. She'd put more than one student in detention for it in the past year; would she not be a hypocrite if she allowed her staff to set a bad example? She'd already given Archibald Wright a dressing-down for some ill-chosen words last year.

Ironically, it was the former contents of a certain pensieve that had caused said change of heart. And, now, she'd have to deal with that particular member of her staff over a matter she'd hoped (foolishly, maybe) he'd put behind him for good.

She sighed and glanced at her old German cuckoo clock on the wall under Albus's portrait. Severus's last class for the day, sixth-year Defense, would be over soon. It was Friday; he'd probably gather up any papers or other items that needed grading or assessment and retire to the cluttered corner of his personal quarters, hunching over that stained antique roll-top desk that always seemed to be an explosion of parchment and various trade magazines, catalogs, dog-eared books and utter chaos that only Severus understood, or so it had been the last time she'd made her way down to his home in the dungeons. Granted, that had been at least eight or nine years ago...

It had been a fairly terse conversation with Wright the previous year - Here is the conduct that is expected of you, now conduct yourself appropriately or other disciplinary measures would be considered. End of. Severus, though... Perhaps a sip Old Ogden's finest would be a good idea beforehand. She knew he would not appreciate the conversation, but it was, perhaps, long overdue.

 

* * *

 

“Bloody pack of idiots.”

He muttered to himself as he slammed the heavy wooden door behind him and dropped the stack of Defense essays on the coffee table. Normally, he preferred to skip supper on Fridays and get the week's papers graded immediately, leaving the rest of his weekend free to work on more important matters. With Harry's Ministry-appointed tutoring finished, though, in reality he had little to occupy himself with on most weekends anymore. His duties as head of house over Slytherin and, later in the year, possibly refereeing the occasional Quidditch game, did not actually take up a great deal of time these days, the pace of life having settled down considerably since the end of the war.

He was disinclined to spend another moment thinking about the utterly sub par pack of sixth year N.E.W.T. students he'd inherited this year, though. He cursed Wright and his namby-pamby O.W.L.s potions instruction once again, and the lower forms' defense professor, a retired Gringott's curse-breaker by the name of Jean MacDougal (who in his estimation was only marginally more competent than Wright).

Severus absentmindedly rubbed at the back of his neck, then cursed at himself for good measure, recognizing the anxious tic as one he'd somehow picked up from his son during their private tutoring sessions over the last year. Harry had been moved out of the classroom and into full time on-the-job training and fieldwork at the end of the summer. The knowledge of it sat in the back of Severus's mind like a fat toad, but there was nothing more he could do about it. He'd prepared the boy to the best of his ability and the rest was up to Harry and God, fate, random chance, or whatever the hell it was that ran the universe.

He glanced over at the sagging overburdened bookshelf beside his desk. A particular stack of papers stashed on top of a row of books had accumulated a fair layer of dust. Two years before he'd been obliged to end Albus Dumbledore's life, he'd begun experimenting in his rare free time with the uses of white hellebore in the brewing of a selection of restorative draughts, but the project had been abandoned in the mounting chaos of the war. Perhaps he'd have time this year to begin again. As he reached for the stack of papers, green flames sprang up in the hearth and the Headmistress's face popped through.

“Severus, do you have a moment? I need to speak with you.”

Severus blinked at the sudden intrusion into his private space, but nodded at her, abandoning his notes yet again to the dust. Minerva's face disappeared and a moment later she stepped through. She raised an eyebrow at him, perhaps expecting some sort of invitation or greeting, but Severus was not accustomed to entertaining guests in his personal quarters. After a moment's indecision, he gestured toward the ancient sofa that constituted most of the seating available in the cramped sitting room. Minerva sat down and glanced around, although whatever she was thinking did not appear in her expression.

Severus seated himself beside her, feeling keenly uncomfortable all of a sudden. Generally Minerva called him up to her office if she had need of him; he could not recall any moment in any recent year when she'd set foot in this room. After several moments of stilted silence, she finally turned to look at him with an unsettled expression. “I'd rather hoped, Severus, that this conversation would never be needed, I must confess.”

Severus glanced at her, waiting for her to qualify the loaded statement. “What conversation, dare I ask?”

She sighed quietly and picked at a loose bit of upholstery on the arm of the sofa. “The one where I have to remind you that I expect a certain standard of conduct from my staff toward students.”

“Ah. That one.”

She turned toward him again, studying his face. He did not meet her gaze, preferring to stare across the room as though looking for shapes in the ashes of his fireplace.

“I know Albus did not pay much mind to such things, but I decided upon taking this position that I would not overlook these matters. I suppose he thought it would toughen up the students to deal with a few unreasonable teachers, and a few cruel peers, but the war is over now, after all.”

He nodded slowly, saying nothing. She ought to be shouting at him, probably. It wasn't as though he didn't know what he'd been doing all week. Her calm, steady speech was almost ominous, in a way. He'd prefer shouting, he thought, on the whole. Severus stifled the urge, again, to rub at the back of his neck, and wondered if it was something he'd done before he'd become aware of it in Harry and simply had not noticed, or if he had indeed picked up the habit from the boy. He wasn't sure at the moment which scenario bothered him more.

“You've been doing so well, Severus. Last year passed without incident. I don't supposed you'd be willing to tell me what has changed?”

“The quality of the students, primarily.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, unimpressed with his answer.

“You had more than a few frustrating students last year, as I recall. And yet you somehow managed to refrain from accusing them of having the I.Q. of a tepid glass of water.”

“Hmph.”

“Severus, is it really too much to ask for you to simply control your temper?”

Severus scowled. It seemed like such a simple matter, on the surface. And yet. “I... suppose it is not.”

She watched him for a moment, but he could think of nothing else to say. Students failed to pay attention in class, goofed off, flouted his instructions and generally acted like a pack of teenagers generally act, and sometimes it just wound him up to the point that something inside him just snapped.

“Severus, please, just _try_ to explain to me what the problem is.”

He shook his head. This conversation was suddenly straying into territory he had no real desire to explore. “They show up unprepared. They won't pay attention. They're disrespectful. They...” Severus pulled his hand away from his neck, and wondered how long he'd already been rubbing at it. “I know they already hate me anyway, what difference does it make?”

His headmistress leaned back into the cushions of his sofa and sighed again. Clearly that was not a satisfactory answer, either. He felt like a student again himself, one who was about to be handed a detention, most likely.

“And this makes you angry, does it?”

He clenched his hands into fists in his lap, not out of anger but to stop himself from fidgeting more than he already had. “Obviously.”

She shook her head, picking up an old, much-thumbed potions journal and glancing at the cover before dropping it back on the coffee table. “Really, Severus? You spent years play-acting in front of everyone, including Voldemort, none of us the wiser, and yet a pack of teenagers gets the better of you?”

Shame settled in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't pinpoint where he was slipping. It was... frustrating. “I... do try not to let it out. It's tiring, though, trying to Occlude all the time.”

She turned to him suddenly, with a look of concern and mild shock. “Occlude- Severus, are you serious?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, confused by her surprise, then suddenly feeling defensive. “I am still quite adept at the art, I assure you Minerva. But it can become tiresome after extended periods. I was rarely in the company of the Dark Lord for more than a few hours at time, at most, and generally with days if not weeks passing between meetings. I'd like to see you do as much.”

He turned away from her, nursing bruised pride, but she continued to stare at him in shock.

“Severus, is that really the only means you know of.. of controlling your emotions? You do realize most people know nothing of Occlumency and certainly do not use it on a daily basis. Merlin...”

“I don't...” He gave up and rubbed at his neck again. There was something weirdly soothing about the gesture, anyway, and he could feel his own heart rate creeping up at the moment, along with a hefty dose of embarrassment. It wasn't as though he was utterly lacking self-awareness. He knew he wasn't exactly... normal. Did she have to go on about it? “I do the best that I can, Minerva, and I apologize if my efforts are insufficient. I will endeavor to improve.”

He just wanted her to leave, now.

“My apologies, Severus. I... hm. It's not as simple a matter as I assumed, I suppose. I do know that you make an effort. I suppose that is why I find myself worried about you right now. You really were doing very well last year. You still haven't told me what has changed, though.”

“I don't know.”

“I admit I know only the basic tenets of Occlumency, but that must be exhausting.”

He continued to stare into the cold fireplace, wishing now that he'd bothered to light it before she came in. It was only October, but the dungeons were generally relatively cool even during the summer months. He simply shrugged one shoulder at her facile observation, feeling ungenerous at the moment.

Minerva stood and paced across the small sitting room, passing a hand over the back of the desk chair, then running a finger across the embossed titles on his bookshelf. “I know you probably don't want to hear it, but I am not without sympathy, you know. I realize one cannot lead the sort of life you have led and be left with no consequences.”

“Oh lovely, my employer thinks I'm a nutter. Brilliant.”

“Severus, that is _not_ what I said. But it occurs to me that this sort of thing is something most people learn as children. Yet you seem incapable of calming yourself in a normal fashion. I admit I know very little on the whole about your background, beyond what you left with Harry at the end of the war, but I get the impression that perhaps you did not have the most normal childhood.”

Severus snorted at her statement. She was treading on thin ground and he was rapidly losing patience. “My childhood is none of your concern.”

“Normally I would agree, but as it is clearly affecting your ability to carry out the duties of your job to a satisfactory standard, I'm afraid it very much _is_ my concern at the moment.”

“I am hardly the first or last person to have a less-than-stellar upbringing, there is little that was unique about it.”

“It seems unfortunately common, yes, but that is beside the point. Do you not think, perhaps, that your parents might have failed in certain aspects of your upbringing?”

He laughed loudly, a harsh barking sound that startled Minerva. “Oh, I'd say they failed in most respects, and in far more than my upbringing. But it is, as Harry is so fond of saying, _ancient history_.”

“Hm. Well, he would know something about it I suppose.”

“If I should ever set eyes on Petunia again... well, it would be better if I did not.”

Minerva looked at him again, her expression softening. “Speaking of Harry, do you speak to him much? I have not seen him once since the term began.”

“There's nothing left on his Ministry curriculum; they have moved him to field training. I imagine he has little free time at the moment.”

“Still... the two of you seemed to be getting along well enough last year.”

Severus shrugged. If he didn't want to think about his parents, he didn't want to think about Harry right now, either. An odd ache settled over his heart which he did not understand and it made him inexplicably angry.

“It must have been nice, though, to spend a bit of time together without the distractions of a full classroom, not to mention a war.”

“Hm.”

“So you haven't heard from him recently?”

“Not since August. I believe he's been seeing the Weasley girl again. I'm sure they'll be picking out china patterns soon.”

He glanced up to see that Minerva was smirking at him. “What is it _now_?”

“Oh, just the thought that perhaps you are feeling a bit... neglected?”

He scoffed at the childish notion. “No, I most certainly do not feel 'neglected' and I am hardly going to begrudge the boy for living his life as he sees fit. I survived thirty nine years without anyone nannying after me, I am not going to suddenly shrivel up because a son I knew nothing of until a year ago suddenly has better things to do.”

Minerva's mirth evaporated and she sat down again beside him. “There's nothing wrong with wanting to spend a bit of time with your own child, Severus. Regardless of when the two of you found each other.”

He rolled his eyes at her, wanting this awkward conversation over with. They'd long since strayed from the original topic, anyhow. “Regardless, I am not his responsibility and he has other concerns at the moment.”

He was also getting rather fed up with her endless sighing.

“You were calmer when he was visiting regularly. Is that, perhaps, what changed?”

“I've already told you, Minerva – I _do not know._ Perhaps. I admit I am no expert on that ridiculous spell we were subjected to.”

He leaned over, propping his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. He was growing tired and wanted nothing more than to bury himself in a book and forget the entire week. He felt overheated.

Severus flinched badly and swore, mostly at himself, as Minerva suddenly began rubbing at his neck, pressing against the hard tension in his muscles. She'd done as much in the past, at least once, when he was still recovering from Nagini's attack. He was hardly close to being in such bad shape at the moment, though. He batted her hand away without looking up and felt oddly deprived when she withdrew.

“I'm afraid I simply don't know how to help you, Severus.”

“It is not your responsibility anyway. I am not a child.”

“You use that word a lot. Responsibility. You do realize it is entirely common for people to lend aid to to their friends and their family?”

“Obviously.”

“Is it obvious? I'm not sure you have a great deal of experience with it.”

“For Merlin's sake, just drop it! _Christ-_ ” He sat up and leaned back into the sofa cushions, one hand massaging at the pain that flared in his head. “Fine, I'm a bloody nutter, I get it. Poor Severus Snape, lost his marbles ages ago. I'm not interested in maudlin pity, Minerva. Don't waste your sentiment.”

Minerva left her seat and stood in front of him, peering down at him in a manner that suddenly made him feel very small indeed. “I'll spend my sentiment where I choose, Severus Snape. And not every bit of concern or sympathy is 'maudlin pity' as you put it. But if you'd rather sit here and wallow, I will leave you to it. In the meantime, I still expect you to refrain from referring to students in a derogatory manner, however you choose to manage it.”

She spent another moment staring down at him before her stance slackened somewhat, her ire spent. “We can shelve this conversation for the moment, Severus, but it is not finished. I truly do not know the solution to this problem, but that doesn't mean I will stop looking for one.”

Severus looked away from her, unsure quite how he felt at the moment, other than out of his depth. He wondered suddenly just how annoyed Harry would be if he showed up at the boy's flat unannounced, then dismissed the thought. If the boy were even home on a Friday evening (which he thought unlikely), he probably would not throw him out, but he'd be none too happy at the intrusion, regardless. Severus Snape was many things, but he was not one to impose himself where he was unneeded and unwanted.

“Why don't you take the weekend off, hm? I'm sure we can keep the house of Slytherin from destroying itself for a couple of days. I don't recall that you've ever used much of your entitlement for leave. And no, Death Eater meetings never counted.”

“And do what, exactly? I have a private laboratory here that is set up far better than the one in Cokeworth, after all.”

“Oh, I don't know, maybe you could actually speak to your son? I am sure he would not be too upset if you wanted to meet for coffee somewhere. Call me a nosy old woman if you like, but I wouldn't mind knowing what he's up to.”

“So why don't _you_ meet him for coffee then? He'd probably prefer your company over mine anyhow. I am not exactly in great social demand, as I recall.”

“Merlin, Severus, I thought you were past this - He's _your_ son, not mine. After everything that boy went through for you last year, you still doubt that he wants you around?”

Severus crossed his arms over his chest, feeling badly exposed. She was still standing inches from where his feet were planted on the ground, more or less pinning him where he sat. “You know what he's like, Minerva. He'd turn the world upside down to save a complete bloody stranger, I can hardly claim any unique position in the boy's life.”

Minerva raised a hand briefly, then dropped it to her side. She'd nearly slapped him, he knew, although he was not sure what had provoked such a strong reaction.

“You _stubborn_ – I just do not know what to do with you. God knows why, but that boy loves you, Severus. And if I am not badly mistake, you love him far more than you probably know. Why won't you just see it?”

He scowled at her, but gave no answer. He knew very well exactly who and what he was, even if Minerva refused to see _that_.

“Just... send him an owl, hm? Maybe let him decide for himself if he wants you around instead of answering the question for him before you've even offered it.”

 _So he can removal all lingering doubt of just how little he desires his former enemy in his life, whatever our relation?_ he thought, but did not say out loud. Severus crossed his arms tighter, gripping with his hands in a manner that would probably leave bruising, but it was better than the other impulse he had, which was simply to shove the infuriating woman out of his sitting room and slam the door in her face.

She stepped back, at least, giving him a bit of breathing room, finally. He stood and stepped away from her, turning his back on her. He swore under his breath for the umpteenth time as he flinched yet again when her hand came to rest softly between his shoulder blades. _Control yourself, idiot._

“Severus, you don't have to do everything alone anymore. Just... think about it.”

The hand withdrew, taking its warmth with it. He heard footsteps and the door closing softly behind her. He laughed softly. The problem was, of course, that he didn't actually know any other way of doing everything.

He waited a few minutes and after some hesitation, he stepped out into the corridor and began his way up a few dozen staircases toward the Owlry. Perhaps if he sent Harry a letter, she might at least leave him alone for a while...

 

**Author's Note:**

> For those curious about the title, it is from a song by the Swedish artist Thåström from his 2005 album Skebokvarnsv. 209
> 
> You can listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CM9q1pHvuIY) if you like.
> 
> (No, I'm not Swedish myself, but I had a friend from Sweden who introduced me to this talented artist and who wrote down translations of lyrics for some of the songs a few years ago for me.)


End file.
